


Here on earth

by orphan_account



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The Walking Dead Fusion, Character Death, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Survival, Walkers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:58:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Alfie finds Tommy passed out with a walker gnawing at his boot on the floor of a pharmacy. He decides to help.





	Here on earth

Fumbling fingers drag over the shelves, grasping the bottles that lie scattered over every horizontal surface. The flashlight clenched between Tommy’s teeth does little to make the small letters on the labels more readable, his body shaking violently with the fever that courses through his veins. He needs antibiotics and he needs them fast. Amoxicillin, doxycycline, anything. The wounds on his side and his leg throb duly, the edges festering and sticky with pus. The fever has him in a death grip, if he doesn’t find antibiotics, or at least some ibuprofen he will die on the floor of a decrepit, scavenged pharmacy. If he doesn’t find it fast, he will be forced to take the gun that is holstered against his side and put a bullet through his own head. Tommy Shelby refuses to die by a fever only to come back as a walker. He knows if he blows off his own head, he will ring a dinner bell for the walkers that roam the streets, but better that than becoming one himself. 

The search for medicine becomes more frenzied, bottles falling to the floor as he sweeps his hands over the shelves . The huff of air that escapes his lips might be a laugh when finally his fingers closes around a bottle of the pills he needs. The cap is torn off and one of the pills is swallowed without second thought. It will do little for the fever but it will fight the infections in his wounds. Hopefully. 

He looks around sluggishly, finding the shelves that house bandages. He also spots a few bottles of alcohol. With a pained groan he stumbles through the pharmacy, so trained on reaching the bandages he never sees the walker that comes up on his right side. Only when cold, clammy hands wrap around his arm with surprising strength, Tommy realizes he has made too much noise with throwing the bottles to the ground. A strangled yelp leaves him as he reaches for the knife tucked into his belt. It should be easy; to grab the handle and stick the blade into the rotten face before him, but the fever has made him weak on top of malnourishment and possibly dehydration. And the walker is strong, bend on taking a bite of his flesh. Tommy grunts, one arm against the walker’s chest, blocking his advances as best as he can while he struggles to free the knife from his belt. When he does he is quick to sweep it up and stab it cleanly in the walker’s eye. The corpse hits the floor with a sickening, wet thud. 

Sweat is trickling down from his temples, and his heart hammers a staccato against his ribs. The air doesn’t seem to reach his lungs and Tommy sways on the spot. Fuck. His vision swims and the edges darken, blackness creeping in around him. Fuck I… Without having a chance to finish that thought he collapses to the floor, not seeing the light that briefly shines through the window. 

***

When he wakes the sun blinds him momentarily. He must have been out for a while then. With a groan he rolls to his side, bleary eyes taking in his surroundings. He nearly heaves what little he has in his stomach when he lies face to face with the walker he killed. The memory of it is a blurry haze. He spots the bottle with the pills that he must have dropped when he fainted and scrambles to get them. The scuffling must have alerted the other of his awaking and Tommy nearly has a heart attack when a voice rings out: “Oi! You awake then.” The gun that was strapped against his side is no longer there and mild panic settles into his chest. He rolls onto his back, trying to sit up but he is weakened due to the fever and infection. He must look like a struggling fish on dry land. 

“No need to be afraid, if I wanted to kill you I would have done so when you were out, yeah.” The voice has a point but Tommy remains on high alert as best as he can. A knife is tucked into his boot; he can feel the metal when he moves his foot. If the need arises he can grab that to defend himself. Another pair of boots comes into view, and then a blurry face when the man crouches down in front of him, his head cocked to the side. Calculating whether or not to take him or leave him, Tommy deducts. “You are in a right state aren’t you?” A hand comes up, probing fingers feeling around his forehead, his neck, measuring Tommy’s fever. “I took the liberty to check if you were bitten or not. Found nothing aside from those rather nasty wounds. Happens that, with dirty knives.” The rattling of a pill bottle makes Tommy perk up and a hand comes around the back of his neck to support him. “Open your mouth will you.” Tommy doesn’t and he reckons his distrust must be visible on his face. The stranger lifts the bottle in his line of sight so he can read the letters on the label: amoxicillin. With a sigh he does open his mouth and he can feel the smooth surface of the pill when the man pushes it between his lips. He swallows. 

“You alone?” 

Tommy nods, blinking to try and get a clearer view of the man. “I…” His voice is raspy with disuse. His dry throat does nothing to help. A rattling, wet cough shakes him and he sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth. 

“I was with family. House got overrun. It was frenzy. So many walkers. We ran, but lost each other. Don’t know if they survived. Have been alone since.” 

Another cough leaves him gasping for air. Strong hands grab him under his armpits and he is lifted into a seating position, with his back against the counter of the pharmacy. It helps to get his labored breathing under control. 

“Right.” The man muses. “Got to clean and bandage those wounds if you want to survive. Antibiotics go a long way but not long enough. You are a strong lad, yeah. Need to use alcohol to clean them.”

Tommy nods feebly. His eyes fall closed as the man scuffles around to get the supplies he needs to clean Tommy’s wounds. He must have dozed off because he wakes with a start when a hand slaps him gently on the cheek. 

“You need to stay with me alright. What’s your name?” 

“Thomas.” 

“Okay, Thomas. I need you to take of your shirt yeah, so I can have a good look and bandage the wound properly.” 

Tommy does so with shaking hands. The sharp intake of air and the click of the man’s tongue can mean nothing good. 

“That’s one nasty wound you got there mate. Going to need stitches.” 

Warm fingers clasp around his chin and the man’s face swims into view. It’s not an unkind face, withal the lines on his skin have sharp edges. That is only natural, Tommy muses, with the end of the world as civilization knew it. 

“Look at me.” 

He complies, only to scream hoarsely when the alcohol burns against his torn flesh. The fingers clasp over his lips when he struggles wildly against the man’s firm grip. 

“Keep still!” 

The order is hissed in his ear but Tommy is nigh delirious with fever and blinding pain, barely registering the command. When the man pours more alcohol on the wound Tommy passes out.

***

Alfie grunts when Thomas’ body goes limp in his grip, head lolling against his shoulder. Might as well be better, at least he will be quite. Can’t have someone screaming bloody murder with the walkers milling about. He works quietly, rinsing the wound and deftly stitching it with a thread and needle he carries in his own first aid kit. He makes sure to sterilize the needle with the alcohol first. The wound on Thomas’ leg looks a little better and doesn’t need stitching. 

Alfie hunches back when he has bandaged both wounds, and gazes at the slack, sickly face. It is surprisingly beautiful under all the grime and blood. He brings up his hand and rubs it over his eyes, thinking his options through. Leaving him here, alone, vulnerable and passed out will be a death sentence. When he found him a walker had been gnawing at Thomas’ boot. If he leaves now without taking him the walkers will get the meal they have been denied so far.

“Bloody hell. Screw it.” 

Swiftly he grabs his backpack, stuffing the first aid kit and antibiotics in it before swinging it over his shoulders. Then he hooks one arm under Thomas’ knees, and the other across his shoulders. It leaves him unable to defend himself when attacked but his car is parked only a few short paces from the shops entrance. He walks with a quick stride, kicking open the door and switching his pace into a jog. A scan of the area reveals there are no walkers nearby and relief pools in his chest when the car comes into view. Alfie opens the backdoor and lays Thomas’ limp body across the seats before clambering in himself, starting the motor, driving out of the little, deserted town.

***

The camp he has set up is only a few short kilometers away. It’s in a wooded area, remote with little disturbance. Few walkers pass through and he has fashioned a trip wire that rings a bell when one decides that his hiding place is a good place to meander through, only to be met with a knife cleaving through their skull. 

He parks the car and goes to lift the still unconscious Thomas out of the backseat, carrying him to the tent he has set up. There is only one air bed and Thomas needs it more than he does right now. He carefully lays him down and arranges his limbs before pulling the blanket over him. His skin is deadly pale and unnaturally warm still. It worries him and Alfie goes outside to fetch the backpack. 

He is only mildly pissed that the discovery of a limp, but breathing body has kept him from his original goal: scavenging for food. The supplies he has have been running low for a while now, but when he laid eyes on the man clinging so stubbornly to live he decided that saving it was the honorable option. There is not much honor left in this world, everyone for their own, right? Even he might have put a bullet in Thomas’ brain if he had been in a fouler mood. But not today. Today he has showed mercy. Now he can only hope it doesn’t take a turn for the worse. 

***

The first thing Tommy notices when waking up is his sore throat. The second thing is that he lies on something soft and that blankets are piled on top of him. If he didn’t have two infected wounds that burn painfully with every movement, he might have been comfortable. Then he remembers the stranger in the shop and he shoots up, wildly looking about and simultaneously petting down his body in search of his weapons. The knife is tucked inside his boot but the gun is still missing. The man is nowhere to be seen. “Hello?” He winces, speaking hurts his raw throat. 

A shadow moves across the fabric of the tent, he’s inside a tent, and then the flap is pulled back, revealing the kind but harsh face of the stranger.

“Sleeping beauty is awake.” 

Tommy decides not to dignify that remark with an answer, he just keeps staring. 

“Still looking a little worse for the wear, but the fever went down during the night.” 

“Night? How long have I been out?” 

The stranger gives him a blank look. “A day, give or take. I took you out of that shop yesterday morning. It’s around midday now.” 

Tommy releases a long breath, and then coughs. The movement hurts the wound on his chest and he can feel the pull of the stitches.  
Black lashes flutter as he peers up at the man still standing in the opening of the tent. 

“Thank you. For getting me here.” 

A grunt is the only thing he gets in return. The clacking of plastic cups and then the tell-tale sound of pouring water makes him sit a little straighter, and when a cup is handed to him he gulps it down greedily, the coolness soothing his parched tongue. 

“What is your name? I didn’t ask before or I can’t remember.” He hands the cup back. 

“It’s Alfie, and you are Thomas, right?” 

“Tommy.” 

“What?”

“Everyone used to call me Tommy.” 

He fiddles with edges of the blanket, weariness settling in his bones. The fever might have gone down but he is not yet back to his former strength. Without proper food and medicine it might take a while to reach that point again. But at least he is alive. 

“Right. Tommy. Saving your arse has delayed my original plans and I really do have to go back to that town, especially now that there are two mouths to feed. Shouldn’t take me more than a few hours. You think you are alright on your own?” 

“Not much of a choice there, eh? It shouldn’t be a problem.” He pauses for a moment, his gaze moving to the canopy of the tent. “But I want my gun back if you leave.” Negotiation is something that seems to be crucial in this new, savage world. Negotiation for food, for shelter, supplies. People end up dead when negotiations go wrong, he has seen it before. But something tells him that this Alfie is reasonable. Honorable even perhaps, he did save him. 

“Sure.”

The readiness of the answer catches him slightly of guard and he hopes it doesn’t show. Alfie rummages around in the backpack he retrieves from a corner of the tent, and places the gun next to the air bed. 

“It is better to use knives. They are attracted to sound, riles them up real good.”

“I know.”

“Right. I am off then. Try not to get yourself killed while I went through the trouble of getting your arse here.” 

It is with a cheeky grin that Alfie departs, leaving Tommy alone to reflect on his current predicament. 

***

He has fallen asleep again and he wakes with a start, eyes wide and ears pricked up. There is no sound that raises alarm and he relaxes minutely. When a car door slams and footsteps approach he realizes that the car pulling into the little clearing must have been what woke him up. 

Alfie mutters to himself when he climbs through the tents entrance, carrying a bulging backpack and two paper bags. “Fucking done with those walkers mate. Bloody disgusting innit? Anyway, got lucky I did. Wasn’t the first one to go to that supermarket, looked like a bloody storm went through it but there was still something left. Canned food, dried meat and fruit.” He proceeds to pull out bag of the aforementioned fruit and tosses it on his legs. “Vitamins for the sick man.” 

Tommy lifts the package: banana chips. Tearing into the plastic he holds it out toward Alfie who grabs a handful. 

“Thanks.” He mumbles while nibbling on the chips. It tastes like bloody heaven. 

Alfie shrugs and goes around the tent, putting away the canned food and other things he acquired. Tommy spots bottles of water as well. 

“So what was your plan? I don’t think it was falling ill and get eaten by walkers, right?” 

Tommy lies back against the pillow, sucking bits of banana chips from between his teeth while he mulls over an answer. 

“Find shelter I suppose. An unoccupied house perhaps, and look for my family from there on out. I went back to the house we used to stay in, but they weren’t there.” 

He trails off, thinking about those he lost. They might be alive out there, maybe even be together but he doesn’t know for sure. His chest tightens when he thinks of little Finn, who was so naïve but had to grow up to fast when the dead rose. And Arthur with his short temper, who got in trouble one to many times because of it, riling up the walkers until he was surrounded and they had to revise their plans to get him out of trouble. Ada, Pol, John, Esme…. Linda was lost early on. Perhaps her death was what made Arthur so reckless. 

“Hmm. So you aren’t going to shoot me in my sleep?”

The comment pulls him out of his reminiscence, a frown furrowing his brow. 

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Ah, good good. How did you get those wounds anyway?”

“Ran into a group. They were rather… territorial, averse to strangers. I didn’t mean any harm but your word doesn’t mean anything in this world anymore.”

“No I suppose it doesn’t.”

Alfie’s eyes are unreadable when he looks at him. It puts him on edge. He might have saved his life but that doesn’t mean he will not kill him when he makes a wrong move. 

“And you aren’t going to kill me either.” 

The remark is both a question and a statement. 

“Why would I kill you when I just saved your life?”

Tommy can think of a variety of reasons, sustenance is one of them even though he has little meat on his bones left. The only answer he grants Alfie is a shrug of his shoulders. 

The bag of chips lies forgotten in his lap when they stare at each other in the darkening tent. 

“I am going to make dinner. Or at least something to eat. You need to try and sleep some more yeah?” 

Tommy supposes he does.

**Author's Note:**

> The thought of this au wouldn't leave my head, so here it is. All mistakes are my own as this work was not beta'd.


End file.
